


A Drunk Mind Speaks a Sober Heart (Part One of "Peeping Through the Closet Door")

by OpenPage



Series: Peeping Through the Closet Door [1]
Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenPage/pseuds/OpenPage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom’s had a little too much to drink, leaving him vulnerable to Booker’s playful advances.</p><p> For <strong>bootsy_mine.</strong> I hope this will satisfy you until I write your fic. Oh, and I apologise for the bad <em>drunk speak</em> :D</p><p>In peace,<br/>OpenPage x</p><p> <br/>Footnote: This story ended up much longer that I originally intended (I always seem to have so much to say!) and the ending took an unexpected turn I hadn't counted on. Therefore, rather than turning it into a long fic, I have decided to make this into a series of short stories detailing Tom's journey as he comes to terms with his bisexuality. That way, I can add to it when I please without having the pressure of posting regularly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kiss Is Worth a Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bootsy_mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootsy_mine/gifts).



> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35930667646/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.** **No copyright infringement is intended.** **Based on the TV series 21 Jump Street.**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35132308614/in/dateposted-public/)

The guitar-heavy music blasting from the ceiling-mounted speakers drowned out the excited chatter in the bar below, the heavy _doof doof_ of the bass vibrating through the wooden floor. A mass of twenty-somethings gyrated to the jarring melody of Guns N’ Roses’, _‘Welcome to the Jungle’,_ the public orgy of erotic foreplay raising the temperature of the room, the heat thickening the air with a mixture of sweat and cheap perfume. It was a powerful, heady aroma, an artificial pheromone fueling their inner sexual desires, and to the casual observer, it was apparent sex was foremost on everyone's mind.

Booker leaned against the bar, a bemused smile curling the corners of his lips, the glass of Jacks in his hand temporarily forgotten. His focus was not on the crowd jostling in front of him, but on the slim, lithe body standing to his left. With his eyes closed and his lower lip pushed into an enticing pout, Tom Hanson’s hips swayed rhythmically to the beat of the music, and for Booker, the sight was far more stimulating than the wanton display of sexual exhibitionism playing out on the dance floor. Lost inside his own private world, Tom was unaware of the sexual energy rippling from his body in seductive waves, and it was this naiveté that revved Booker’s motor. The young officer did not seem to realize just how attractive he was, and that level of humility made him all the more beautiful. He was a vision of perfection, and Booker had spent many a lonely night jerking off with images of Tom swirling in his mind. But unfortunately, his graphic sexual fantasies were as close as he was going to get to the real thing. Tom was straight, and he needed to accept he would never experience the erotic pleasure of Hanson-flavored semen flowing over his tongue. It was a disappointing realization, but it wasn’t his first, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. As Mick Jagger so rightly pointed out, _“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need”,_ and he had to be content with that fact.

With a regretful sigh, he turned away and raised his glass. But before the intoxicating flavor of the whiskey touched his lips, Tom stumbled sideways, knocking the tumbler against his teeth and spilling an ample amount of the amber liquid over his chin.

“Oopsh, shorry,” Tom apologized, a goofy grin breaking across his face. “I kinda loshst my balansh.”

Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Booker smiled back, his dark eyes sparkling with merriment. “Looks like the birthday boy’s having fun.”

Tom lurched unsteadily on his feet, one eye narrowing as he peered drunkenly at the crowd. “Yeah, ish been… Where’sh Doug?”

Booker pointed toward the throng of people on the dance floor. “He’s getting his groove on with Judy.”

“Oh,” Tom mumbled before grabbing hold of Booker’s wrist, his warm, alcohol-tinted breath tickling the dark-haired officer’s face. “Whatta ‘bout Harry? Ish Harry okay?”

“Harry’s fine,” Booker reassured, and placing a stabilizing arm around Tom’s narrow waist, he only just managed to prevent him from toppling over. “But I think you’ve had enough. How ‘bout I drive you home?”

Tom’s lower lip pushed into a sulky pout before immediately relaxing into a grateful smile. “Okay.”

With a wave of his hand, Booker caught Doug’s attention and pointing at Tom, he motioned toward the door. Penhall deciphered the charade, and giving a thumbs up, he continued dancing.

Sensing Tom was on the verge of collapse, Booker tightened his hold around the younger man’s waist. “C’mon, Hanson,” he chuckled. “Let’s get you home before you fall down.”

“M’okay,” Tom mumbled, his body leaning heavily against Booker’s muscular frame. “I jush need shome fresh air.”

Maneuvering through the busy bar was a feat in itself, but the two young officers eventually stumbled out the exit and into the quiet alleyway that ran along the side of the club. The heavy metal door swung closed with a bang, muffling the music and returning their sense of hearing. As if on cue, light, misty rain fell from the night sky, quickly dampening their hair and shoulders, and with his arm wrapped protectively around Tom’s waist, Booker navigated the empty back streets. Within a couple of minutes, they were standing next to his Cadillac, and after settling Tom comfortably in the passenger seat, Booker slipped in behind the wheel. It was then an unsettling thought suddenly occurred to him and turning his head, he studied Hanson’s pale face. “You’re not gonna barf are you?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered closed, and his head shook slowly from side to side. “Nuh-uh,” he reassured drunkenly. “I jush wanna go to shleep.”

An ingrained skepticism made Booker wary, and he issued the inebriated officer a stern warning. “Yeah, well, if you do, you’re the one who’s gonna clean it up. Got it?”

Without opening his eyes, Tom expelled a heavy breath and relaxed back against the seat. “Got it.”

Satisfied with Tom’s answer, Booker turned the key in the ignition and drove carefully from the parking lot. He knew he was probably over the legal limit, but his arrogance often made him reckless, and ignoring his gut instinct, he merged the Caddy into the light flow of traffic. Hanson’s apartment was only three blocks away, and he figured he could drop the officer off and make it home without raising any suspicion. Then, he would fall into bed and relieve the sexual tension that had been steadily growing throughout the night. Being in close contact with Tom was both a blessing and a curse, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He equated the thrill pulsating through his veins with that of a heroin addict’s morning fix; an explosion of pure pleasure, a sensual rush of love setting his nerves on fire. But beneath the thrill, there bloomed a blissful, psychological calm, a deep, insightful awareness that they were meant to be together, if only in a platonic sense. Tom was the yang to his yin, they complemented each other’s strengths and compensated for each other’s weaknesses. Together, they were a contradiction, but in a strange way, that’s what had drawn him to Tom in the first place. The young officer was his alter-ego; guarded and unpretentious, with a hint of shyness lying behind his dark, playful eyes. It was what would have made them the perfect couple, but as Booker’s grandma used to say, _“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”_ Therefore, until he found the courage to take a risk and lay his cards on the table, making love to Hanson would forever remain an unattainable dream.

Pulling the Cadillac up in front of Tom’s apartment building, Booker switched off the ignition and turned to face his passenger. Strands of damp hair curtained Tom’s dark, unfocused eyes, his disheveled appearance adding to the illusion of adolescent vulnerability. The dozens of tiny raindrops peppering his flawless skin shimmered in the light reflecting through the Caddy’s windshield, the soft glow illuminating his perfect features. In Booker's eyes, Tom looked good enough to eat, and the dark-haired officer longed to sweep his tongue over the warm, succulent flesh of his colleague’s chiseled cheeks; to absorb his sweetness and devour the salty tang of sweat masked beneath the opaque beads. He wanted to sample the full Hanson buffet, complete with dessert, and what better time than now? Alcohol had lowered both their inhibitions, leaving him ready and willing, and Tom possibly open to persuasion. He didn't view it as taking advantage of his friend's inebriated state, it was more along the lines of not so subtly putting it out there that he was interested, and maybe, just maybe, the object of his affection would reciprocate the love burning within his heart. After all, there was no way of knowing unless he tried.

“Um, sho I guesh I’ll shee you t’morrow,” Tom slurred, his unfocused gaze squinting at Booker’s left ear. “Thanksh for drivin' me home.”

An amused smile tilted Booker's lips. Tom really was adorable when he was three sheets to the wind, and unable to control his urges any longer, he leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Happy birthday, Tommy,” he whispered, and closing his eyes, he brushed his lips over his friend’s full, enticing pout.

Tom stiffened slightly, but the warmth of Booker’s mouth soon sent a current of arousal surging through his body, and an excited moan bubbled in the back of his throat. Parting his lips, he met the tender kiss with eager acceptance, and his moan deepened as Booker’s tongue brushed lightly over his teeth before entering his mouth. Heat flared in both their groins and simultaneously, their tongues began a sensuous tango of exploration; tasting, caressing, absorbing the masculine flavors of whiskey and cigarettes. Suspended in a bubble of erotic pleasure, their emotions spilled forth in an unrestrained passion of lust and need. Moisture rose from their damp clothing, fogging the windows, and their hearts soon fell into rhythm with the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windshield; the heavy thumping creating a soothing metronome of steady beats, the hypnotic tempo adding to the surrealism of the kiss. Trapped in a moment in time, it was like a scene from a movie, but instead of a crashing, musical crescendo, all they could hear was the cadence of their own hammering hearts.

The sudden realization of what was happening brought Tom back to earth with a mind-shattering jolt, and he jerked away, a shy, nervous smile tilting the corners of his tingling lips. “Um, thanksh.”

Tickled by the reaction, Booker’s dark eyes shone with amusement. “You’re welcome.”

Tom fumbled with his seatbelt, and once free, he opened the door. “Shee you t’morrow,” he muttered, and climbing out of the car, he managed only two steps before pitching forward onto the grassy verge.

“Fuck!” Booker exclaimed, and scrambling out of the car, he ran to Tom’s side. “Hanson, are you okay?”

Rolling onto his back, Tom grinned up at Booker. “I think ‘m a li’l drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Booker laughed as he lifted the young officer to his feet. “Maybe I should help you inside.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tom replied through a yawn.

After propping Tom against the car, Booker closed and locked the doors. He smiled when he saw Hanson’s chin drooping against his chest, and placing an arm around his waist, he steered him into the apartment building. Ignoring the stairs, he pressed the elevator button, his foot tapping impatiently as he watched the numbers count slowly down. When the doors _pinged_ open, he maneuvered Tom inside and pressed the button for the second floor. The ride was over in moments, and stepping out into the dimly lit hallway, he looked up and down the long corridor before nudging Tom. “Which way?”

“Huh?” Tom mumbled sleepily.

“Never mind,” Booker chuckled, and reaching into Tom’s pocket, he pulled out his key. “Apartment two-twenty-two, right?”

“Mm,” Tom confirmed, without bothering to query how the dark-haired officer knew where he lived. 

Taking a gamble, Booker turned left. He was having trouble keeping Tom on his feet, and he too was starting to feel the numbing effects of the alcohol flowing through his system. Once he had Tom settled, he planned to go home and relive the titillating thrill of their kiss, committing it to memory so he could use it as a stimulus during the long nights he spent alone with only his hand for company.

When they finally reached Tom’s apartment, he unlocked the door and helped his friend inside. “Here we are, home sweet home.”

Tom lurched drunkenly across the dark living room and disappeared through an open door at the back of the apartment. Worried the young officer might be disoriented, Booker found the light switch and flicked it on. After closing the door, he followed Tom’s path and walked into what he soon discovered was the young officer’s bedroom.

Soft moonlight shone in through the curtainless window, illuminating Tom’s body passed out face down on the bed. He was naked from the waist up, having managed to pull off his t-shirt before he collapsed. It was a position Booker had found himself in on more than one occasion, and he knew if Tom were to have a decent night’s sleep, he would be better off not wearing his boots and jeans. It didn’t cross his mind that he might be overstepping the boundaries of their friendship for the second time in one night, he was more focused on making Tom comfortable. With a groan, he squatted down on the floor and carefully unlaced Tom’s scuffed boots. After fighting to remove them, he peeled off his socks and threw them to the floor. Rising to his feet, he climbed onto the bed and gently rolled Tom over. He paused for a moment, soaking in the mesmerizing sight, and as his gaze roved over the young officer’s face, his expression softened. With eyes closed and his breath expelling through his lips in a rhythmic _pfft,_ Tom was the picture of tranquility, and an explosion of love quickened Booker’s pulse. Being careful not to wake the sleeping officer, he popped the button of his jeans and gingerly pulled down the zipper. His hands shook violently, and ignoring the throbbing in his groin, he slowly removed the worn denim. The weight of the material dragged down Tom's boxers, revealing a tantalizing tuft of dark pubic hair above the waistband, and Booker unconsciously licked his lips before casting an eye over the young officer's face. But Hanson remained asleep, blissfully unaware of his state of undress. However, for Booker, the sight was his erotic fantasy come true and afraid he might be enticed to take things too far, he quickly climbed from the bed. After a quick search, he spied a blanket laying on top of the closet, and pulling it down, he draped it over Tom’s lower body.

With the alluring, naked flesh now covered, he exhaled a weary sigh as an unexpected wave of fatigue hit him hard. His apartment now seemed a million miles away, and gazing down at the bed, he longed to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. The pull was so strong, he didn't allow himself time to think through his decision, and kicking off his boots, he quickly removed his jeans and shirt. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to Tom. A sudden nervous energy made him jittery, and it took several long minutes for his heart rate to settle. But eventually, his breathing slowed, and with memories of Tom’s kiss tingling his lips, he finally fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

 

_To be continued…_


	2. On the Edge of Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: Soft moonlight shone in through the curtainless window, illuminating Tom’s body passed out face down on the bed. He was naked from the waist up, having managed to pull off his t-shirt before he collapsed. It was a position Booker had found himself in on more than one occasion, and he knew if Tom were to have a decent night’s sleep, he would be better off not wearing his boots and jeans. It didn’t cross his mind that he might be overstepping the boundaries of their friendship for the second time in one night, he was more focused on making Tom comfortable. With a groan, he squatted down on the floor and carefully unlaced Tom’s scuffed boots. After fighting to remove them, he peeled off his socks and threw them to the floor. Rising to his feet, he climbed onto the bed and gently rolled Tom over. He paused for a moment, soaking in the mesmerizing sight, and as his gaze roved over the young officer’s face, his expression softened. With eyes closed and his breath expelling through his lips in a rhythmic pfft, Tom was the picture of tranquility, and an explosion of love quickened Booker’s pulse. Being careful not to wake the sleeping officer, he popped the button of his jeans and gingerly pulled down the zipper. His hands shook violently, and ignoring the throbbing in his groin, he slowly removed the worn denim. The weight of the material dragged down Tom's boxers, revealing a tantalizing tuft of dark pubic hair above the waistband, and Booker unconsciously licked his lips before casting an eye over the young officer's face. But Hanson remained asleep, blissfully unaware of his state of undress. However, for Booker, the sight was his erotic fantasy come true and afraid he might be enticed to take things too far, he quickly climbed from the bed. After a quick search, he spied a blanket laying on top of the closet, and pulling it down, he draped it over Tom’s lower body._
> 
> _With the alluring, naked flesh now covered, he exhaled a weary sigh as an unexpected wave of fatigue hit him hard. His apartment now seemed a million miles away, and gazing down at the bed, he longed to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. The pull was so strong, he didn't allow himself time to think through his decision, and kicking off his boots, he quickly removed his jeans and shirt. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to Tom. A sudden nervous energy made him jittery, and it took several long minutes for his heart rate to settle. But eventually, his breathing slowed, and with memories of Tom’s kiss tingling his lips, he finally fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35839394771/in/dateposted-public/)

The tweeting of the house sparrows nesting outside Tom’s building filtered through his dream, the cheerful _chirrup_ pulling him gently toward consciousness. As the fog cleared from his mind, the first thing he noticed was the sour aftertaste of whiskey infused with his saliva, and he muttered a groan of regret. He vaguely remembered celebrating his birthday, but the details were fuzzy, and he hoped he hadn’t made a complete ass out of himself. However, his concern became secondary as his body fully awakened and he became aware of his early-morning boner. He obviously hadn’t drunk enough to dampen his sexual urges, and without opening his eyes, he exhaled sleepily and pushed down his boxers. With a self-gratified sigh, his fingers lightly toyed with his erection, teasing it to life with gentle caresses. Taking his time, he reveled in the sensation of his cock lengthening between his fingers, the ripples of pleasure tingling his spine, awakening his desires and adding to the titillation of his arousal. As a lover, he was gentle yet passionate, and he treated his body with the same respect. Most men just wanted to get off, but for Tom, it was all about the foreplay. Despite feeling hungover, he still wanted to indulge in the eroticism of slow, sensual stimulation. It was all part of the tenderness of his nature, and it was what set him apart from most other men.

With his cock now fully erect, he moved his hand up and down the shaft, squeezing and releasing in a rhythmic motion. A surge of pleasure ran down the length of his spine, forcing an excited moan from between his semi-parted lips, but the intimacy of the moment was short-lived.

“Impressive.”

Tom’s eyes flew open, and turning his head, he stared in bewilderment into Booker’s dark, teasing eyes. “Wh-what the hell?”

“Morning,” Booker greeted with a smile. “Sleep well?”

Ignoring the courteous question, Tom continued to stare at Booker in disbelief. “Why are you in my bed?” he challenged, his voice rising in alarm.

The confusion in Tom’s eyes forced a bubble of laughter into Booker’s throat, but he managed to contain his mirth by pushing his lower lip into a faux pout. “You don’t remember? Hanson, I’m gutted.”

Raw panic widened Tom’s eyes, and furrowing his brow, he struggled to recall what had happened the night before. He remembered eating… drinking… dancing… drinking… more drinking… sitting in Booker’s car… 

Then it hit him, and the words flashed through his mind like a blinking neon sign, **‘KISSING BOOKER… KISSING BOOKER… KISSING BOOKER…’**

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, the color draining from his face. “We kissed… We fucking _kissed!”_

Pushing up onto one elbow, Booker rested his head in his hand, a cheeky, engaging smile curving his full lips. “Yeah, we did, and I’ve gotta tell you, Tommy, you seemed pretty enthusiastic about it at the time.”

As Tom’s memories became clearer, a flare of heat returned the color to his face. Unsure how to react, he remained silent, his teeth nervously worrying his lower lip. He _had_ enjoyed the kiss, but to admit it opened a whole can of worms. Booker was obviously bisexual (how did he not know this?), so did that make _him_ bisexual too, and if so, how the _hell_ did he not know this? It was too much of a conundrum for his alcohol-soaked mind to deal with, and he wished he were a small child who still believed in magic. Then he could close his eyes, and become invisible to the rest of the world or, at the very least, invisible to Booker.

Taking an inordinate amount of pleasure from Tom’s discomfort, Booker’s gaze traveled down to his semi-erect cock still grasped in his hand. “So… are you gonna take care of that?” he teased with an impish grin.

Awareness dawned, and Tom’s blush immediately deepened, giving his cheeks a rosy glow. Releasing his erection, he frantically searched for the blanket before pulling it up to his chin. “Um… I… um…” he stammered, his confused mind unable to come up with what he considered an acceptable answer. There was no doubt he _did_ want to reach the heady heights of orgasm, but now there was a new, unsettling thought forming in his mind; he wanted to jerk off, but he wanted Booker to watch.

Sensing a disturbance in Tom’s thoughts, Booker’s heart hammered heavily in his chest, and taking a deep breath, he threw caution to the wind and voiced the question hanging unspoken between them. “Do you want me to watch you, Tommy?” he murmured, his dark eyes dancing in the faint light of dawn's rising sun.

With his discomfort intensifying, the fingertips of Tom’s right hand rubbed furiously over his upper lip. “I, um, I don’t… Shit, Dennis, why would you ask me that?”

Booker’s pupils dilated with excitement, transforming his eyes into black pools of hot desire, and taking hold of Tom’s hand, he gently pulled it from his mouth. “Because you felt it too,” he suggested softly, his shallow breaths becoming more labored with the swell of his growing arousal. “When we kissed, you felt it too.”

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The truth was out there, and Tom knew if he denied the legitimacy of his feelings, the lie would forever deaden his sensibilities. It had only taken the soft, alluring timbre of Booker’s voice to reawaken his desires, and his cock once again stood to attention; the needs of the flesh now surpassing the need to protect his reputation. But he remained physically incapable of saying the words, so instead, he pushed down the blanket and revealed his magnificent erection.

For the second time in less than twelve hours, time appeared to stand still, and licking his lips appreciatively, Booker dared to ask the question that would ultimately change their relationship forever. “Do you want me to watch… or touch?”

Caught in the web of a surreal dream, Tom’s cock had the final say, and a single word quivered breathlessly from between the young officer's lips. “Touch.”

Booker’s excitement flowed straight to his cock. “Oh, Tommy,” he breathed, hardly daring to believe his ears, and sitting up, he quickly straddled Tom’s legs. But when he noticed the anxiety shining in Tom’s eyes, he started to question his own motives. Because of his own selfish desires, had he coerced Tom into agreeing to fool around? He knew he could be a manipulative sonofabitch, but what he felt for the man lying beneath him was real, and he would never defile that level of emotion just so he could get off. Therefore, although it pained him to do so, he decided to give his friend an out. “It’s okay, Tom. If you don’t want to I—”

“I do,” Tom gulped, a tremor of excitement rippling through his body. “I want you to touch me, Dennis. It’s just… I’ve never… you know… done this with a guy before.”

A burst of pure love erupted in Booker’s heart, and reaching out a hand, he tenderly brushed a rogue strand of hair from Tom’s eyes. “Yeah, well, I have, and let me tell you, Tommy, guys know what guys like.”

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched nervously. Although anxious, he was so unbelievably horny he could barely think straight, and he knew it was because he was entering new, exciting territory, territory he never thought he would explore. His cock lay flat against his belly, the smooth, mushroom-shaped head blushing a dark shade of purple as blood rushed through his shaft, hardening him further. Confused by his body’s awakening, he wondered if he’d feel the same level of arousal if he’d woken up next to Doug. But his heart said no, this was something different, something _special,_ something… _Bookerish._ The phrase made him smile, and some of his apprehension disappeared. So, he was about to let Dennis Booker jerk him off, so what? He’d done worse things in his life, and who knew? Maybe it would be fun.

Experience had taught Booker not to rush things with a _first timer,_ and smiling lovingly down at Tom, he spoke in a tender voice. “Can I kiss you?”

Biting seductively on his lower lip, Tom nodded, and closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and waited. Seconds later, a warm mouth lightly caressed his softly parted lips, the tenderness behind the kiss sending his stomach into violent somersaults of desperate longing. When the tip of Booker’s tongue entwined with his own, a low moan rumbled in the back of his throat, and his hips rocked forward as his need for contact intensified. Booker translated the urgency behind Tom’s movements as a sign to proceed, and his fingers traveled slowly down his lover’s naked chest until they found their destination. Deepening their kiss, he lightly rubbed the pad of his thumb over Tom’s smooth cockhead.

 _“Ohh,”_ Tom moaned into Booker’s mouth, his body squirming in response to the teasing titillation.

The warmth of Hanson’s breath kindled a fire in the pit of the dark-haired officer’s gut, the emotion behind his arousal lengthening his cock. Breaking the kiss, he sat up and gazing down into the dreamy eyes staring up at him, he grew bolder. Without asking for permission, he stroked a finger over Tom’s frenulum. “Do you like that, Tommy?” he murmured, the tip of his finger lightly stimulating the sensitive tissue. “Do you want me to jerk you off?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered closed. _“Yess.”_

But Booker wasn’t satisfied, he wanted to see the passion in Tom’s big, brown eyes when he gave him the best handjob of his life. “Open your eyes, I want you to look at me,” he commanded softly, his hand stilling mid-stroke.

If he did as Booker asked, Tom knew he would lose the childlike shield of protection that prevented him from acknowledging the unsettling reality that he was about to engage in a sexual act with another man. But the loss of contact was too much for him to bear, and giving in to the request, he slowly opened his eyes.

“Good boy,” Booker murmured softly, and circling his thumb and index finger around the base of Tom’s cock, he teased him by gently squeezing and releasing repeatedly as he slowly moved his hand up the erect shaft.

The controlled pressure on his cock sent pleasure-spasms down the entire length of Tom’s shaft, igniting a fire in his testicles. Pre-cum bubbled from his slit, coating Booker’s fingers in the viscous fluid, the added lubrication intensifying the eroticism of the act. But it was not enough. Tom wanted more, _needed_ more, and finding his voice, he vocalized his yearning. “Faster, Dennis,” he moaned, his fingers clutching at the rumpled bedsheet. “Faster... faster... faster.”

Grinning salaciously, Booker gave into Tom’s demand and his fist began to pump over his lover’s cock. With the buildup of pressure pushing him toward orgasm, Tom shrugged off what was left of his inhibitions, and a desperate plea tumbled from his lips in a breathless pant. “I wanna… I wanna see your cock.”

Shock registered in Booker’s dark eyes, but it only lasted for a moment and using his free hand, he reached inside his boxers and released his massive erection. Tom watched on wide-eyed as he wrapped his hand around the shaft and started jerking off, his left hand immediately falling into rhythm with his right. The sight was so sexually arousing, it took all of Tom’s control not to blow his load there and then. “Oh, God,” he gasped, his hips thrusting frantically upward. “Oh God oh God oh God.”

“Say my name,” Booker panted, his black eyes sparkling brightly.

“D-Dennis.”

“Louder, say it louder.”

“Dennis!”

“Louder!”

“DENNIS!”

“That’s it!” Dennis cried out, his hands pumping furiously over their weeping cocks. “Come for me, Tommy! Come for me!”

Unable to hold on, Tom’s testicles drew toward his body, and with a guttural cry, he climaxed forcefully, his semen splattering his smooth chest.

“Fuck yeah!” Booker yelled enthusiastically, and arching backward, he ejaculated with a loud, drawn-out groan.

The rasp of the men’s heavy breathing filled the room, the ragged pants adding to the awkwardness of the situation they now found themselves in. Having gained his release, Tom’s mind was much clearer, leaving him embarrassed and ashamed. It was a reality he couldn't deal with, and with Booker’s body looming over him, he resorted to the mode of childish protection he seemed to favor and threw an arm over his face so he wouldn’t have to deal with the sated look shimmering in the officer’s eyes. But it wasn’t enough to stem the flow of unwanted thoughts racing through his mind, and his lower lip started to tremble. He had just engaged in a homosexual act with Dennis Booker, and the consequences were catastrophic. How could he ever work with the dark-haired officer again? There was no way in hell he’d ever be able to look him in the eye after participating in such a lewd, sexual act. One of them would have to transfer to another department, and as much as he loved the Jump Street program, he was willing to make the sacrifice rather than living with the pain of Booker’s questioning gaze day in, day out for the rest of his working life.

When a gentle hand touched his arm, he instinctively flinched from the contact. “Tommy?” Booker queried, his voice rising with concern. “Are you—”

“Go,” Tom choked, his eyes brimming with unwanted tears.

A deep sadness welled in Booker’s throat, but he knew better than to try to convince Tom everything was okay. He remembered his first homosexual encounter all too well, and it had taken him a long time to process his conflicting feelings. Tom needed space, and the best thing he could do was leave him to sort through his emotions alone, without any pressure from someone who was comfortable with his own bisexuality.

“If you need to talk,” he muttered lamely, and rising from the bed, he grabbed his clothing and exited the bedroom, giving Tom the peace to grieve openly.


End file.
